Angel
by niahbwriting
Summary: "Morgan didn't believe in much, these days. But he believed that this girl survived for a reason. That she had a purpose, that some higher deity thought she hadn't served yet. And from the moment he heard those quiet moans for help, and scratching sounds emitting from beneath the Earth, he knew that he hadn't finished serving his, either." Morgan/Beth one-shot. (Bethyl-lite)


_**I'm on Team Delusional, but my theories on how/if Morgan finds her varies from day to day. Sometimes I imagine him finding her buried, and other times, I imagine that he stumbles across Grady, and somehow finds her there. Here's a little something. I consider it Bethyl-lite. :)**_

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><p>It'd been two weeks. Two weeks since she'd woken up. Two weeks since he'd saved her. Sometimes, she found herself thinking that maybe it'd been better if she'd stayed asleep.<p>

If she'd stayed _dead._

The confusion. The fear. The nagging feeling that something was just _off, _which she felt more often than not these days, just didn't seem worth the trouble. It felt like she was trying to solve one puzzle, but each piece belonged to a different set.

She couldn't remember who gave her the wound in her head. She couldn't remember where she had been before all of this, or who she was with. She couldn't even remember her own _name. _

The man who saved her simply called her, "Angel." (_Was she even religious?) _

Some things came naturally to her. Like starting a fire, making out walker tracks in the forests as they hiked, or using the mysterious crossbow that had been buried alongside her.

"Is that yours, Angel?" the man named Morgan asked, sitting beside her as they ate a can of peaches he'd managed to find at a poorly raided store.

It took a few seconds for her to mentally shake the cobwebs. "What?"

"The bow. It yours?"

For a few moments, she contemplated that question, as she stared into the fire. There'd been times when she found herself asking the same thing. It'd been buried with her, but had it really belonged to her?

"I don't think so." she answered, both Morgan, and herself.

Her conversations with him were tense, most times. She didn't know if she could fully put her trust in this Morgan, but the fact was, there wasn't really much to talk about in the first place.

In a way, it was all, both a blessing and a curse. Part of her enjoyed the simplicity of the silence and survival due to her literal oblivion of anything before he'd found her, but the other part of her actually _yearned_ to have something to talk about with him. Something to relate to him by.

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "It's a little...big. For someone my size. And there are two initials carved into it. _'D.D.' _I might not remember my name, but I'm pretty sure those aren't mine, either."

Morgan seemed surprised that she spoke more than a few words to him. But he was going to take what she gave him.

"Suppose not. Maybe we'll find the person who owns it someday, yeah?"

She tried to give him a small smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, maybe."

He chuckled under his breath at the look. "You don't seem too excited to find out."

The girl bit her lip and looked down. That assumption was spot on. She _wasn't _exited. Curious, sure. But she couldn't allow herself to believe that the person who owned the crossbow was actually alive. She had enough on her place of emotions as it was, already.

Who knows what adding _devastation_ to it would do to her, if having that type of faith ended badly?

"Anything's possible, I guess. But odds are, the person that owned this thing is dead. They're gone."

She spoke with petulant certainty. But to her surprise, the man smiled at her and shook his head.

"Somethin' funny?" she asked, a hint of annoyance lacing her voice.

"Naw, Angel. It's just..." he trailed off, suddenly returning to his usual serious demeanor. As if reconsidering what he was about to say.

"Well?" she pressed.

"Just ironic is all. If they're alive...they're thinkin' the same exact thing about _you_."

Silence fell between them.

The girl didn't know what to say to that, and Morgan knew what he _had_ said, struck a chord deep inside her. A chord that he hoped would maybe motivate her to do something other than obey his commands, and find something to _live_ for again. Something to push her. Something to keep her going. _Anything._

He knew that she was still healing. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. But he also knew first hand that you couldn't feel sorry for yourself for too long in this world, before it came back to bite you in the ass in one way or another.

Morgan didn't believe in much, these days. But he believed that this girl survived for a reason. That she had a purpose, that some higher deity thought she hadn't served yet. And from the moment he heard those quiet moans for help, and scratching sounds emitting from beneath the Earth, he knew that he hadn't finished serving his, either.

Laying his eyes on those deep, doe-like cerulean orbs of hers, confirmed his thoughts even further.

She was an _Angel._

"You know I'm right. The person who buried that with you must of cared a lot about you. Them bows don't just come by in any shop, these days. I bet half of my next meal that they're still mournin' ya. Why don't you wanna at least see if they're still around?"

She sighed. "I wouldn't even know where to start lookin'. Two weeks is a pretty long time."

She saw him reach into his pocket for something and nod. "You got me there. But I may have somethin' that can give us an edge. Before I found ya, I stumbled across a church. Got overrun, but near the dang alter, I found a map with an ol' friends name on it. Leading up towards Washington D.C. of all places. Now that can't be a coincidence, can it?"

It was pretty strange, she admitted to herself. A warm tingle—a _little_ flame of hope, burned in her stomach. But that was all she was allowing—_daring _herself to feel.

It was something. It was a start.

"What's your friends name?" she asked him casually.

As he traced his fingers over the route that someone had marked, three words left his mouth.

"_Rick. Rick Grimes."_


End file.
